Let's please don't rush
This,
Let us grow.
Take a friendship,
One rather old,
Watch as it
Slowly
Turns to gold.

Do not dream too loudly
You may awaken your conscience

                                        By Phil Roberts

With his head in his hands
And his heart on his sleeve
He closes his eyes against the light of day
And against his quiet despair
He pretends it is not real

But part of him knows
Deep down amongst half-remembered dreams
Emotions that appear from nowhere
And linger
Every cell of him knows

He knows a loss without closure
A conversation without words
Dreams without endings
And hoping without hope

He hears a knock on the door
But no-one walks in
He puts his head in his hands
And his heart on his sleeve
He pretends it is not real

                                           By Phil Roberts

Looking up for you now
staring down the night

Nowhere to go now, love
that you've taken your own life.

Last night I thought
I saw your constellation
orbiting the moon.

In another life
I would have known you.
Quiet like the stars in the night
....ever shining.

India is rising.
I am jolted at this thought.
Do you sip only contentment?

India is being Paris.
A beautiful sentence.
Spicy. Sweet. Allu Tikki.

In July and August
I have to pull up my pants
Upto knees to cross the roads.
Chances of bathing are good.
Have you ever enjoyed
This unwanted bathroom?

You know India
Is completing the project
Of making smart cities.
A matter of pride.
Greatness. Well progress.

Chip in. Pray for much rain.
We need heavenly blessings.
More water in the ditches.
More tourists. More selfies.
More demand. More news.

Thank God we are Indians.
If we were Americans
How would we dance
In the fountains on the roads?

Things are stylish.
All are pleased. Exclude me.
I don't want any pic
In the newspapers.
What I desire for
Is what you might have
Understood after
My conversation.
My Indians. Very gullible.
Take care. Good bye.

Love can be like
trapped light
existing like dusk
the likes of which we can't see
physical but not optical
gravesites for stars
a waystation for dreamers
a delta to cruise through
paradise on Sunday
cold as ice on Monday
a hundred pound block on tongs
with a butterfly at its center
your temple of madness
or the Egypt of your ***
lands of mystery
an island of death
proven theories of sorrow
your lineage, children, tomorrows.

All days' ve flown down the wall
Where we would fly the kite
Under the boiling sunshine
And clouds, dancing in joys.

Only stains breathe now
Like spatches painted
On the road after rain.

Even today that squirrel
Comes and try to find out
Our legs just like a boy
Who searches his lost
Coin in the sand.

The gardener still approaches
And sleep soundly .
None disturbs him.

Daily I visit this place
I couldn't resist myself

Again the heart wishes
To stand in the same water
But legs stumble
Like those of a pigeon
On the window..

She leans closer to me
Kisses me and whisper in my ear

" Stop! Surrender!
  We are one, remember ? "

I smile and look her in the eyes
As i feel our bodies merging to the other side.

Words Of Harfouchism.

Lynching is a practice to spearhead the crime